Chapter One
This gown will be perfect for the betrothal ball.”
Panic and horror flooded Lady Charlotte Lovett at her mother’s offhand statement. The two of them were standing in front of an ornate mirror at their favorite modiste’s shop and surrounded by sinfully soft silks, delicate laces, and finely woven woolen cloth. It was not the setting for dramatic, life-changing announcements. Yet Charlotte could not escape the feeling that her mother’s seemingly innocent observation was actually a harbinger of doom.
“Whose betrothal ball?” Charlotte’s heart pounded desperately against her stays as she prayed her suspicions were unfounded.
“Yours,” her mother replied crisply. She circled around Charlotte as she checked the new dress for any flaws. Pursing her lips, Mother yanked the stomacher downward. Turning sharply to the dressmaker, she instructed in a clipped tone, “The bodice is not framing Charlotte’s décolletage. She must be turned out absolutely perfectly.”
“I… I am engaged?” The words flew from Charlotte’s lips even though she had suspected the truth. Her gut clenched so violently that she nearly flinched.
“Do not act so surprised,” Mother said absently as she continued to arrange the front piece of the gown. “You should have been married ages ago. Your father and I decided it was past time to stop humoring your missish qualms and conduct the arrangements entirely ourselves.”
Missish qualms? Every last one of their candidates had possessed the hallmarks of a tyrant—a rich, connected tyrant, but a tyrant all the same. It was why Charlotte was still unmarried at the
grand age of five-and-twenty. She had tried offering her own suggestions, but her father would not hear of it. He wished to create a dynasty, and her opinions were obviously inconsequential.
“Who is the groom?” Lady Charlotte managed to ask. Nausea sloshed through her. She squeezed her eyes closed as if she could stop not just the queasiness but the entire farce.
PleaseletitnotbetheancientLordPaltham,whoinquiredafter thenaturalshape ofmyhipsbeneathmypetticoats.Heismuchtoo obsessed over whether I could bear him Paltham heirs, who he claimsarealwaysbrawnybabes.
“This is hardly the place, Charlotte.” Her mother’s lips tightened ever so slightly as she nodded with her chin toward the modiste. The dressmaker was doing a commendable job of pretending to be too absorbed in her work of stretching the silk skirts over the pannier to overhear the conversation.
“Madame Vernier, could you please give us a moment?” Charlotte asked, refusing to allow her mother any excuse to prevaricate.
“Why, of course, mademoiselle.” Madame Vernier bobbed her head as she made a hasty retreat.
As soon as the woman shut the heavy door behind her, Charlotte turned from the mirror to stare directly into her mother’s eyes. Observing her parent’s detached expression, Charlotte wondered with a pang of frustration why she’d even bothered. She would find no empathy there.
“Who is the groom?” Charlotte demanded, not even bothering to temper her voice.
Her mother arched one of her exceedingly thin eyebrows, but she did not otherwise scold Charlotte for her tone. “William Talbot, Viscount Hawley.”
Every fiber within Charlotte shrieked in silent horror, but she, herself, made no sound. Anyone—even the uncouth Lord Paltham— would be preferable to the monstruous Hawley. An image of the smirking, handsome man rose in Charlotte’s mind. The fiend’s chiseled beauty could not distract from the cold, hard meanness that lurked in his crystalline eyes.
“Hawley shall make you a duchess when his father, the Duke of Lansberry, passes,” her mother continued, as if the title were all that mattered. But then, from the perspective of Charlotte’s parents, social standing was paramount to everything, especially after the taint that her aunt’s marriage had left upon the family.
“At least something good has come from your brother’s association with Lansberry’s youngest son, Matthew,” Mother continued. “Why Alexander chose to be friends with the third in line rather than Lord Hawley, I shall never understand. But Alexander’s relationship with the family expanded our sphere of influence to include the duke, which in turn has ultimately resulted in this betrothal.”
Charlotte ignored her mother’s musings about Matthew Talbot, a physician and naturalist, who was nothing like the rest of his brutish relatives. What mattered at the moment was the elder brother.
“Lord Hawley is not even nine-and-twenty, yet he has twice been widowed within a span of three years. The mourning period for his second wife hasn’t even ended. If he were a woman, he would be in seclusion and couldn’t remarry for another six months.”
Charlotte couldn’t keep an edge of desperation from her voice.
“As the heir apparent, the viscount has a duty to quickly remarry and produce male issue,” her mother continued in her usual clipped tone. “Both wives died in tragic accidents, the poor man. But there is no reason to think you would succumb to the same fate. It is not as if a curse is upon the family.”
No, it wasn’t bad luck that had befallen Hawley’s young brides but, according to whispers, something much more suspicious and sinister. Fear pumped through Charlotte as she scrambled for a way to make her mother see beyond the man’s title to his dangerous character. “People who cross the viscount have a tendency to end up dead.”
Her mother sniffed. “Do not be melodramatic, dear. It doesn’t suit you.”
“When Mr. Monroe beat Lord Hawley at whist, he was found with his throat slit—only the winnings had been taken and no other valuables.”
Her mother shrugged. “It was in an extremely seedy section of London. What do you expect?”
“After Lord Hawley’s mistress threw him over for another man, both she and her new lover burned to death in a house fire.” Charlotte grabbed her mother’s arm as if the gesture would somehow make her words miraculously heeded.
“You listen too much to prurient gossip, darling. It is not an admirable trait, especially for an unmarried miss, who is fast becoming an old maid.” Her mother deliberately lifted Charlotte’s fingers from her silk-clad arm. “Do you really imagine that an heir apparent to a dukedom is lurking about dark alleys attacking people and torching buildings?”
“He would not need to personally. I have heard that he associates with questionable…” Even Charlotte could hear how frantic her normally even-toned voice had become, but she could do nothing to staunch the fear seeping from her.
Her mother held up a gloved hand, her facial features set in elegant, yet unyielding lines. “That is enough, Charlotte. I will not listen to more of this drivel. Your father and I spoke with the Duke of Lansberry before he left to address an urgent matter on his Scottish estate. All of the details have not only been finalized but agreed to. We would announce immediately, but the duke wished for us to wait until he returned from the Highlands in two months’ time. At least that will give us ample opportunity to prepare for the betrothal ball and the wedding. Both events must be grand enough to be discussed in drawing rooms, not for just this Season but for decades to come. Our families do have reputations in Society to uphold.”
Two months. Two damnable short months. That was all Charlotte had to extricate herself from a marriage to a young man who had already buried two wives.
“The bodice of this dress is just not right.” Charlotte’s mother had turned her attention back to the gown and was staring at Charlotte’s stomacher as if she could glare the fabric into submission like she did to everything and everyone else.
“Perhaps you should review fashion plates with Madame Vernier,” Charlotte suggested, desperate to escape her mother, her
current situation, and her whole bloody cosseted life.
Her mother nodded. “I am glad you have returned to being reasonable.”
“Of course, Mother,” Charlotte lied. She had no doubt that her mother detected the falsehood, but that would not bother the Society matron. Charlotte had stopped arguing and acquiesced as she always did. It was of no import how she actually felt. It never was, as long as she acted outwardly demure and pleasant.
Mother strode to the door and opened it, but she paused before crossing the threshold. “Are you not accompanying me to review the samples?”
“I need a few moments to compose myself.” Charlotte pressed her lips into a sweet smile.
Her mother’s expression turned impenetrable. “Do not dawdle too long, darling. Women of our breeding do not sulk.”
“Understood, Mother,” Charlotte said.
With regal grace, her mother swept into the hallway, not even bothering to shut the oak door behind her. Charlotte walked across the room and gently closed it, wishing she could shut out her parents’ ambitions just as easily.
Sinking back against the wood, Charlotte found herself staring at the French doors opposite her that Madame Vernier had installed years before to inject a bit of the Continent into her London shop. The early spring day was unseasonably warm, and Madame Vernier’s staff had left the massive glass slightly ajar—enough to let in air but not enough for people passing by on the street to catch glimpses of the clients. The drawn drapes fluttered in the breeze, beckoning to Charlotte.
An unholy energy, fueled by panic, buzzed through her. When pulled back, the French doors would present an opening large and grand enough even to accommodate Charlotte’s ridiculously large skirts. Moreover, the room was on the first floor.
Consumed by the urge to flee, Charlotte grabbed a swatch of gauzy material that Madame Vernier had been using as a makeshift neckerchief for Charlotte. Luckily the material had not been cut and served as a perfect veil. Pulling the sheer material over her head,
Charlotte crossed over to the French doors. Parting them, she stepped through and onto the street. Then she ran.
Chapter Two
At first, Charlotte did not have a direction in mind as she dashed through London. Instinctively, she headed away from the crowded streets frequented by the upper classes. She barely registered the shocked expressions of passers-by at the sight of a lady dressed in court attire dashing pell-mell along the cobblestones. Several times, she had to move her body at odd angles to avoid whacking someone with her pannier. Yet she did not slack her pace, not even when the buildings became older and less meticulously maintained. Fine ladies and their maids no longer populated the thoroughfare.
A painful stitch in Charlotte’s side finally caused her to pause. As she leaned against the rough brick facade of a nearby building, surprise shot through her. She’d traveled all the way to Covent Garden—and not a very savory part of it. Scooching into a side alley, she tried to gather her frenetic thoughts and emotions and put her intelligence to use.
Running from the modiste had accomplished nothing. Although Charlotte possessed a small inheritance from a great-aunt, it would not be enough to live on for the rest of her life. She had no choice but to return to her parents and their machinations. All she had done was gotten herself woefully lost in an unfamiliar and likely dangerous section of the city.
Forcing herself to breathe in and out, Charlotte focused on the most urgent problem: finding her way through the warren of streets she’d blundered into. Her only incursions into Covent Garden had been strictly limited to attending the Theatre Royal. This part of the city was more the realm of her twin brother.
Peeking around the corner, she scanned the larger street for any landmark that Alexander might have mentioned. Everything looked drab and unremarkable. Coffeehouses blended into alehouses and perhaps even a bordello or two, and then back into coffeehouses. An incongruous laugh rose inside Charlotte, who for the first time in her life found herself on the verge of having the vapors.
To think, she had yearned to accompany her brother to this section of London! Although she had no interest in the drinking establishments or the brothels, she’d long wanted to visit a coffeehouse, choke down some of the bitter brew, and engage in a debate unfettered by the rules of polite society. She and her friends had secretly fantasized about visiting the noisy spaces instead of enduring the suffocating atmosphere of her mother’s especially strict salon and its endless decorum. But coffeehouses were barred to women, except for the proprietresses.
Stifling another inappropriate giggle, Charlotte tried to soberly take an accounting of the street. Richly clad aristocratic young rogues mixed with laborers. Not all the better-dressed men, however, had the bearing of the peerage or gentry. Instead, their demeanor seemed hard, coarse, and most assuredly deadly. A chill slithered over Charlotte as she wondered if she was espying some of the fabled highwaymen who dressed like fops; or perhaps these hardened fellows were smugglers or river pirates. This, Charlotte realized, was a world that Lord Hawley would frequent as he discarded his Society trappings and donned his true persona. The truth of the villain could be found in places like Covent Garden, not at the balls, soirees, and musicales that Charlotte attended.
But there was one coffeehouse where she might at least be able to seek temporary shelter and arrange for a hackney carriage: the Black Sheep. Not only was it her twin’s favorite haunt, but one of the proprietresses was Charlotte’s cousin—estranged, but still family. And Alexander told such stories about the establishment.
The Black Sheep—even the name called to something inside Charlotte, not just to her current panic but to the misfit part of her that wanted to debate and maybe even defy the rules prescribed to ladies. What would it be like to live as her cousin did—freed from
Society, owning a place that was a hotbed for revolutionary ideas? Would it be similar to how she imagined her grandmother and greataunt’s salon? Mother had stifled its daring philosophical atmosphere after Charlotte’s aunt had run away with a pirate, but how magnificent it must have been in its heyday.
Just a few weeks ago, her cousin and product of that shocking union, Hannah Wick, had approached Alexander about investing in an expansion of her coffeehouse. The space adjacent to the Black Sheep had recently become available for rent, and Hannah had wished for help in paying the lease. The sum was not a grand one, but Charlotte’s brother didn’t have the funds.
Suddenly, a brilliant plan ripped through the doom encasing Charlotte. She had the money—her inheritance! What if she transformed her dreams of a coffeehouse where women could attend into reality? She knew such a place would attract scores of customers, and customers meant blunt, and blunt meant she would have an income separate from her parents. If she was a co-owner of the Black Sheep, she would have access to all its customers, including those with criminal connections who might know of Hawley’s misdeeds.
Good lord, perhaps Charlotte had been running somewhere after all. An almost giddy excitement collided with her anxiousness. A part of Charlotte warned her that she should not plunge into murky, unknown waters, but she ruthlessly silenced the doubts. If she wanted freedom, she had to be bold.
Afraid that further consideration would sway her into dismissing the scheme, Charlotte burst into the larger street. A flower seller pushing her cart seemed the most approachable person. After hurrying to catch up to the woman, Charlotte blurted out, “Miss. Please. Can you tell me where to find the Black Sheep coffeehouse?”
The female peddler blinked, likely in shock over Charlotte’s formal appearance and polished accent. Too startled and confused to protest or even to ask for coin, she jabbed her finger to the right. “Four streets that way, milady, then toward the south.”
“Thank you!” Charlotte wished she could pay the flower seller, but she had left her reticule at the modiste’s. Instead, she gave a
friendly salute before she wove through the crowd in the direction indicated.
Within three minutes, her breath coming in gasps both from anticipation and exertion, Charlotte stood before the famed Black Sheep. At this hour, it was not open to the public, which meant she could talk to the proprietresses alone.
Charlotte raised her gloved hand to rap at the sturdy wooden door, but her heart seemed to knock instead. Before nerves could stop her, Charlotte let her knuckles fall against the oak. Once. Twice. Thrice.
The door opened to show Charlotte’s cousin. Until now, Charlotte had only spied Hannah in passing, but she had no trouble recognizing her. After all, it was a bit like peering into her own looking glass. They had the same Titian red hair and pale white skin with a light smattering of freckles over the bridge of their noses. Unlike Charlotte, however, Hannah did not hide the brown flecks with powder. Since their mothers had been identical twins, it was no wonder they looked similar, despite the widely divergent paths their immediate families had taken.
“Hello, Hannah Wick,” Charlotte said rather clumsily as her throat unexpectedly tightened. She was rather at a loss about exactly how to greet this relative to whom she’d never spoken. Charlotte briefly pulled back her veil, and Hannah’s green eyes widened. Within mere moments, the young woman regained her composure—an asset for the owner of a rowdy coffeehouse.
“Come in straight away, Cousin. You’ll be set upon by every cutpurse and filching thief in Covent Garden dressed in that finery.”
At Hannah’s hastily spoken command, Charlotte attempted to slip through the opening between the coffeehouse’s heavy wooden door and its half-timber exterior. Unfortunately, she had entirely forgotten about her massive hoop petticoat. The stiff pannier collided with the wattle and daub. Charlotte found herself bouncing backward into a gaggle of smartly dressed gentlemen walking down the street.
Swerving en masse like a herd of disgruntled sheep, the fops murmured something about slatternly morts. One even rudely
elbowed her with his brightly clad arm. Charlotte was accustomed to receiving vastly different treatment from the opposite sex, but given the circumstances, their crude responses actually soothed her.
The young bucks hadn’t recognized her as they continued to gambol south along the thoroughfare. Thank goodness Charlotte had grabbed that veil. But even if the gauzy fabric had shielded her this time, it might prove less effective in another close encounter with the peerage.
Wasting no more time in reaching safety, Charlotte turned sideways and pushed. The delicate silk of her dress caught on a splinter in the wooden doorjamb. Ignoring both the tug and the sound of ripping fabric, she continued to shove her body and massive skirt forward. As much as she loved a pretty gown, she did not appreciate this one.
“Gadso! What is she wearing?”
Still wedged in the door like an entire loaf of bread, Charlotte could not spy the second female speaker as she peered into the long, narrow building with its white daub walls. But even if she didn’t know the identity of the other occupant, she really had no other choice but to continue trying to enter the Black Sheep.
“A gown for my betrothal ball.” Charlotte could not help but spit out the last two words as she finally burst into the building. Sour panic churned, and her innards twisted again. Right now she would eagerly trade her ridiculous, delicate attire for the serviceable linseywoolsey short dress and practical skirts that her cousin wore.
“Why are you here? It is not as if our families are on speaking terms.” Hannah regarded Charlotte with wary intensity. Since it was a look that Charlotte’s own mother often employed, Charlotte was well-accustomed to such scrutiny. In fact, it ironically rebalanced her. An examination was something Charlotte could handle with aplomb.
“My brother does frequent your establishment.” Charlotte straightened her shoulders and smoothed down the ripped silk in an attempt to hide a glimpse of her linen undergarments. She wished, however, that her hands did not have a slight tremor.
“Coffeehouses do not serve women, so you cannot be here for the brew. If you’re a runaway bride seeking shelter, I suggest you
try a more hospitable host. Since my mother was cut off by yours for following her heart, do not expect sympathy.”
“I am not a runaway bride.” Not precisely, at least, Charlotte thought as she removed the veil. “I only fled a dress fitting.”
“Where the word ‘betrothal’ was bandied about? You’re quibbling.” The second speaker’s voice again came from the back of the narrow room. Charlotte scanned past the long, empty tables. Finally, her gaze lit on who she assumed was, from her brother’s description of the other proprietress, Miss Sophia Wick, Hannah’s paternal cousin. Like Hannah, she wore a white linen cap and clothes of linsey-woolsey. The hard edge of Sophia’s London accent was softened with hints of the Caribbean, but her golden-brown eyes held an unmistakable challenge. Neither of the mistresses Wick were pleased with Charlotte’s unexpected appearance.
An anxious flutter beat against Charlotte’s breast. Normally, she could address any social situation, but this wasn’t the type of gathering she’d been bred to navigate.
“I have come with a business proposition.” When Charlotte heard the words burst from her own lips, she should have felt absurd. But she didn’t. Instead, a wellspring of hope flooded her, and with it, her old confidence.
The Wick cousins exchanged a glance before they both doubled over in laughter. The guffaws pricked at Charlotte’s rediscovered poise but didn’t pop it entirely.
Sophia recovered first. “You expect us to believe that the daughter of a duke wishes to do business with the children of pirates?”
Charlotte smiled warmly just as she did when greeting guests at the literary salon. “You’re not the offspring of any old buccaneer, though, are you? Your mother is royalty in that world.” Sophia was the daughter of a pirate princess with African, Dutch, and Taíno ancestry. According to legend, Sophia’s mother had rescued and then fallen in love with Sophia’s father, a white English ragamuffin who’d been deported with his brother to the New World.
“Aye,” Sophia acknowledged, her lips tilting upward with pride. “She is. I’ll give you credit for a honeyed tongue, but that is not
enough for me to entertain whatever foolish scheme you’ve devised.”
“It’s not only my plan. It is both of yours as well.” Charlotte kept her voice amiable. “My brother said you have a desire to expand the Black Sheep, is that not true?”
Once again, the cousins glanced in each other’s direction. This time neither laughed.
Good. Charlotte would sway them.
“Your brother declined.” Hannah’s red brows drew downward. “Why are you keen when he was not?”
BecauseAlexanderreceivesapaltryallowancefromourfather .
But even though the duke’s disdain for his heir apparent was an open secret among the upper echelons of Society, and likely much of the lower rungs as well, Charlotte would not embarrass her brother by saying so. Instead, she ignored the question entirely.
“I received a small bequest a year ago,” Charlotte explained, the words tumbling out quickly as she prayed these women would give her more credence than her own mother did. “From what you told my brother, it will be just enough to cover the lease for half a year. By then, the profits from the expansion will be enough to pay rent.”
“Why sully your hands with trade? You are a lady. You would have no social standing left if it were discovered that you were the co-owner of a coffeehouse known for attracting eccentrics, including those of the criminal variety.” Sophia moved closer, and the light from one of the narrow windows washed over her light brown skin. She looked striking in the sunbeam, and it was not hard to imagine her commanding a ship like her mother.
“Perhaps in certain circles I would lose my status. In some though, such notoriety would bring me renown.” Charlotte spoke bluntly, even as her chest constricted with the enormity of her proposal. If she were found out, the flawless reputation she had worked so hard to create would unravel, yet perhaps that unspooling would also loosen the bonds immobilizing her.
“So this is a scheme to make yourself appear daring?” Hannah’s green eyes sparked with rage. “Some sort of lark? A wager?”
“No.” Charlotte spoke with a coolness that belied the fiery tempest inside her. “It is a bid for independence. My inheritance is not enough to sustain me over the years without another source.”
Hannah snorted, sending tendrils of red hair flying against her mobcap. “How much do you think we earn? It is hardly ample enough to keep the likes of you satisfied. Marry an indulgent man instead.”
“My parents insist upon selecting my bridegroom. I assure you, indulgent is not a quality they seek out. Rather the opposite,” Charlotte said as she battled back the clawing dread that had chased her through the streets of London.
“I find it hard to dredge up sympathy for a noble,” Hannah said drily.
“Your mother was one originally,” Charlotte pointed out, careful not to allow a single ripple of frustration or panic to disrupt her calm tone. After all, she needed the Wick cousins much more than they required her. She could not run a coffeehouse herself. “I do not need to live in high style.” Justnotinagiltprison.
And Charlotte wanted more than financial security. If she was to unearth evidence of Hawley’s perfidy and stop the wedding, this was her best chance, really her only chance, to do it.
“Silly ol’ bird.” The dreadful squawk seemed to bounce off the spartan interior as a lime-green parrot flapped into the room from a doorway Charlotte had overlooked. The palpable disdain in the creature’s voice was matched by the pure malevolence in its single eye. Staring at her the entire time, it landed on Hannah’s shoulder.
Normally, Charlotte would have laughed at the absurdity of a glorified bag of feathers calling her foolish. She didn’t, due to a couple reasons.
For one, the avian creature had twisted its head so dramatically that its beak now pointed toward the timbered ceiling. It made for a rather intimidating stance, especially coupled with the dastardly gleam in its amber iris. The winged beast seemed more than capable of not only taking offense but enacting revenge.
Even more salient, however, Charlotte half feared that she agreed with the parrot’s harsh assessment. Her plan to save herself
and learn Viscount Hawley’s secrets was flimsy at best… dangerous at worst. It was a half-formed scheme built on unrealized dreams and desperation.
“I believe our pet Pan said it very aptly.” Sophia Wick clasped her elegant fingers together. “Any business started as a ploy to escape an aristocratic marriage is doomed to fail.”
Even more doubts began to press upon Charlotte’s precious bubble of hope, threatening to puncture it entirely this time. But she earnestly clung to her optimism and to her composure. Her plan would work. It had to.
“My cousin is right. I see no reason to assume the risks that you are presenting.” Hannah reached up to scratch Pan on his feathery chest. The bird looked exceedingly smug.
“I promise that enlarging the coffeehouse will benefit all of us.” Charlotte stepped forward toward the Wick cousins, trying to make them understand that she did not view this as a game or even as only an escape. Yes, her ideas partially sprang from her daydreams with her friends, but that made her proposal no less earnest. “This is not mere whimsy. I’m not just offering to help pay the lease. I have an idea to expand your clientage.”
“Truly?” Sophia lifted one dark eyebrow, her voice dripping with skepticism. “What would that entail, precisely?”
Charlotte drew in a breath, and her chest pressed against her stays. The rigid structure gave her strength. “I have many connections to literary salons. My mother runs one, and I assist with her hosting duties.”
Hannah snorted. “I hardly see how that genteel activity has anything to do with our coffeehouse. From what I’ve heard, your mother has ruthlessly stamped out any whiff of revolutionary thought that our grandmother and great-aunt previously cultivated. We cater to people who eschew social strictures and whose ideas are considered uncomfortably radical, not fashionably ‘enlightened.’ It is rough-and-tumble, not silks and divans.”
“Would women daring enough to attend a secret mixedcompany coffeehouse be unconventional enough for you?”
“What exactly are you envisioning?” Sophia asked. When she stepped toward Charlotte, Pan flew from Hannah’s shoulder to Sophia’s. As Sophia continued to advance, the avian nightmare turned his head in intimidating circles.
Ignoring the bird’s gyrating eye, Charlotte focused entirely on Sophia. “A new type of coffeehouse—one that people will be clamoring to obtain access to.”
“Are you suggesting a private venue where we host tête-à-têtes for you and your high society friends who want the facade of adventure?” Hannah scoffed.
“No. There is clandestine, and there is clandestine,” Charlotte said. “It is not as if the Black Sheep does not already deal in confidences.”
It did not surprise her when the Wick cousins once again turned toward each other. They were clearly close. Charlotte understood. She and Alexander communicated in the same wordless way. Pan, however, must not have appreciated the tension. With a flutter of lime wings, he circled the room.
“What secrets are you referring to?” Sophia asked finally, her melodic voice hardening into a decided edge.
Just then, Pan decided to settle. On Charlotte’s head.
Only years of social training to be calm prevented her from screaming. Luckily, the misbegotten bird did not dig his claws into her scalp… much. But he did bend his body over Charlotte’s face to stick his eye directly in her field of vision.
“The Black Sheep’s code of conduct states that no debates shall touch upon religion and politics, but according to my brother, that is most definitely not the case.” Charlotte tried to peer around the parrot. It proved impossible as the creature bobbed its head in any direction that she turned.
“No member is supposed to discuss what happens within these walls.” Hannah’s mouth twisted, and her already pink cheeks darkened in patent agitation.
“Blackguard! Villain! Filching cove!” Pan flew toward one of the ceiling beams and perched there as if watching for dragoons to ram down the door.
“My brother knew I would keep his confidence.” Charlotte spoke hastily to allay Hannah and Sophia’s concerns. “The truth of the matter is that covert activities have a way of reaching the ears of those eager to participate. My friends and I often talk about how we wish we could sit in a coffeehouse and have a good spate without worrying a whit about manners.”
Sophia appeared more receptive to Charlotte’s ideas than her fellow proprietress. She, however, did not seem entirely convinced either. “Do you really think a group of ladies with their wide skirts and powdered hair will wish to sit around long tables and rub elbows with shopkeepers?”
“Not at long tables—no.” Charlotte shook her head, trying to remain calm despite the hope and gloom warring inside her. “I was thinking of something a bit more comfortable and welcoming, relaxing even.”
Hannah opened her mouth, presumably to utter another protest, but Sophia waved her cousin into silence. “Please elaborate, Lady Charlotte.”
“We will install a disguised door between your current shop and the new addition,” Charlotte spoke quickly as the half-formed vision began to crystalize. Her years of organizing Society events were serving her well despite the emotions clanging through her. “That shall be the only entrance. We fill the room with sofas and chairs, all elegantly appointed, but more comfortable than fashionable.”
“Like a parlor?” Sophia pressed.
Hannah made a moue of disgust. “We are not some lady’s drawing room.”
“This would be snugger than those formal rooms. I envision an exceedingly inviting sanctuary with cushions that make you want to sink down and stay awhile.” Charlotte barely managed to keep the tempo of her voice steady with all the excitement and panic.
“How would this not just be a meeting place for your acquaintances?” Sophia asked suspiciously. “Do you expect to attract females outside your inner circle?”
“It would not just be ladies, but a mixed group, similar to a salon.”
“How mixed?” Hannah asked, her voice not quite as sharp as before but still probing. “We do not just serve the gentry.”
“The appeal of the coffeehouse is its egalitarian exchange of ideas untrammeled by subtleties and tact.” As Charlotte spoke, her hope transformed into a fire of want. Oh, how tired she was of being nice. She did not want to politely converse with charming smiles and coquettish winks. She wanted to debate. Boldly. Fiercely. Without restraint. Without worrying what a man, especially a prospective husband, might think.
“Are you sure you are not romanticizing the idea of the penny university?” Sophia asked, using the popular nickname for coffeehouses. For a single copper, a man could gain admittance to one of the establishments where he could have his cup refilled as he nattered with gentlemen of all ranks, including leading luminaries in any variety of disciplines.
“Perhaps I am aiming for an ideal. But is that so wrong? Establishments are about appearances, are they not? We will be offering an atmosphere that no one else does. Its concealed nature will only enhance the appeal. You could charge higher prices for coffee, even offer different recipes that add unexpected flavors. It will be a place to indulge the body and the mind—a retreat, an escape from all strictures.” Charlotte knew she sounded effusive. She couldn’t help it. She’d heard so many tales from her brother about the Black Sheep.
“You are fine with consorting with beau-takers?” Hannah pushed again, using the term for criminals who defrauded the gentry. “And illegal gin producers? How about highwaymen? Smugglers? A river pirate or two?”
“Isn’t that the point of a coffeehouse? To mingle with all?” Charlotte spoke lightly, but her heart began to thump so dramatically that she could only pray the women did not detect its thundering. The bubble of hope had swelled to almost painful proportions.
“You are actually serious about joining our venture.” Sophia’s observation was a statement, not a question, but Charlotte nodded all the same.
Sophia turned toward Hannah. “We have talked about wanting to experiment with the coffee—maybe even serve light refreshments. Lady Charlotte is right. Most of her suggestions mirror what we’ve already been planning.”
Hannah rubbed her brow, the movement causing her mobcap to rustle. Then she heaved out a breath, and Charlotte barely stopped her own sigh. In Hannah’s exhalation, Charlotte detected a relenting note. For the first time since her mother’s pronouncement, the fear inside Charlotte began to ebb a fraction.
“We do truly want to expand,” Hannah admitted, “but this is our livelihood, Charlotte—not some pretty bauble that can be replaced if dropped and shattered.”
“I will not treat the Black Sheep as such,” Charlotte promised, coming near to choking on her welling emotion.
“We will be in charge,” Sophia said sternly. “This is our domain, not yours.”
“Understood,” Charlotte said, before adding very carefully, “although I would like the ability to propose ideas.”
“It sounds as if we need an agreement drawn up—a charter, if you will.” Sophia gestured toward one of the long-scarred tables. “Take a seat. It will be a long discussion.”
Relief thundering through her, Charlotte started to arrange her skirts. Although the petticoat did fold up to allow her to sit, the chairs were not just narrow but closely placed. Eager to document the deal that could not just save but transform her, Charlotte pulled out several seats to make room. Unfortunately, her pannier still knocked one down and caused another to wobble.
To Charlotte’s surprise, the Wick cousins did not laugh at her predicament. Instead, Hannah crossed over to one of the windows and emphatically closed the shutter. “You might as well step out of that ridiculous gown. This isn’t the king’s court, and you’ll find we’re not given to ceremony here.”
Near giddy from the maelstrom of relief, Charlotte wondered if she had ever heard a better suggestion. With an alacrity that should have mortified her, she removed the offending dress and panniers and then stood in nothing but her chemise, stays, and a single
petticoat. She would have expected to feel scandalous. She did not. She felt wonderfully, utterly liberated. Without a backward glance at the discarded betrothal gown, she slid onto a chair and prepared to discuss her future.
Chapter Three
You’re looking unfashionably hale and healthy. Pale is still the vogue here in London.”
Matthew Talbot felt his mouth stretch into a smile at the familiar voice of his best friend, Alexander Lovett, Marquess of Heathford. It felt surprisingly good to be back on the streets of the capital city after a year abroad.
Normally, Matthew didn’t mind long sea voyages, but this one had seemed interminable for some blighted reason. It wasn’t even as if Matthew particularly liked Britain, although he supposed he didn’t mind the foggy place of his birth. The isle offered enough flora and fauna to keep a chap like him busy sketching and categorizing, especially in the Scottish Highlands where he’d spent most of his early childhood.
It wasn’t precisely home, but then again, no place was. Matthew did not fit anywhere, especially not with his family. His father, the Duke of Lansberry, had never understood how a son of his could be more interested in studying a pheasant than shooting it. And his older brothers, especially Hawley… well that didn’t bear thinking about, not when the day was sunny and he was in the company of his best friend on the thoroughfare leading to his favorite place in all of London—the Black Sheep.
“Jolly Old England never changes much, I am afraid,” Matthew said as he waited for Alexander to catch up to him. Despite using a cane for balance rather than fashion, Alexander moved quickly over the cobblestones. Matthew had tried to employ his skills as a surgeon to help straighten his mate’s clubfoot, but too many quacks
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liberty. I tried to mount the onagra, and just as in the act of rearing up violently to prevent me, I seized with my teeth one of the long ears of the enraged creature, and bit it till it bled; instantly it stood almost erect on its hind feet, motionless, and as stiff as a stake; it soon lowered itself by degrees, while I still held its ear between my teeth. Fritz seized the moment and sprung on its back; Jack, with the help of his mother, did the same, holding by his brother, who, on his part, clung to the girth. When both assured me they were firmly seated, I let go the ear: the onagra made a few springs less violent than the former, and checked by the cords on its feet, it gradually submitted, began to trot up and down more quietly, and ultimately grew so tractable that riding it became one of our chief pleasures. My lads were soon expert horsemen; and their horse, though rather longeared, was very handsome and well broken in. Thus patience on our parts conquered a serious difficulty, and gained for us a proud advantage.
In the name of goodness, said my wife to me one evening, after one of our first essays, where did you learn this strange notion of biting the animal’s ear? I learned it, replied I, from a horse-breaker whom I fell in with by chance: he had lived long in America and carried on the skin-trade with the savages, to whom he took in exchange various European goods. He employed in these journeys, half-tamed horses of the southern provinces of that country, which are caught in snares or with nooses. They are at first unruly and resist burthens, but as soon as the hunter bites one of their ears they become mild and submissive; and they become so docile, that any thing may be done with them. The journey is continued through forests and over heaths to the dwellings of the savages; skins are given in barter for the goods brought them, with which the horses are re-loaded. They set out again on their return, and are directed by the compass and stars to the European settlements, where they profitably dispose of their skins and horses.—Till now I thought this singular mode of taming a wild beast fabulous, but the young onagra convinces me of the truth of the accounts I heard. In a few weeks the onagra was so effectually tamed, that we all could mount it without fear: I still however kept his two fore legs confined together with the cord, to moderate the extreme swiftness of its running. In the room of
a bit, I contrived a curb, and with this and a good bite applied, as wanted, to the ear, it went to right or left at the will of the rider. Now and then I mounted it myself, and not without an emotion of pride at my success in subduing an animal that had been considered by travellers and naturalists as absolutely beyond the power of man to tame. But how superior was my gratification in seeing Fritz spring at any time on the creature’s back and do what he pleased with it, drive along our avenue like lightning, in depicting to my fond imagination that even on a desert unknown island, I could qualify my dear children to re-enter society and become in such respects its ornament! in beholding their physical strength and native graces unfold themselves, and these keeping pace with the improvement of their intelligence and their judgement; and in anticipating that, buried as they were in a distant retreat, far from the tumult of the world, and all that excites the passions, their sentiments would be formed in exact conformity to the paternal feelings of my heart! I had not lost hope that we should one day return to Europe in some vessel chance might throw on our coast, or even with the aid of our pinnace; but I felt at the same time, and my wife still more, that we should not leave the island without a lively regret, and I determined to pursue my arrangements as if we were to close existence on a spot where all around us prospered.
During the training of our horse, which we named Light-foot, a triple brood of our hens had given us a crowd of little feathered beings; forty of these, at least, were chirping and hopping about us, to the great satisfaction of my wife, whose zealous care of them sometimes made me smile. Most women’s hearts are so imbued with maternal love as to excite in them a fondness for whatever bears a similitude to infancy. Thus, my admirable partner, far from complaining of the trouble such a number of young chickens gave her, took delight in it, and was constantly admiring them; yet her care and admiration did not prevent her appropriating a part of them to the table, and sending the remainder in small colonies to feed and breed in the desert, where we could find them as they were wanted for our use.
Here, she said, are animals of real utility in a family, far beyond your monkeys, jackals, and eagles, that do nothing but eat, and are
unfit to be eaten. The buffalo was not found fault with, because it brought her the provisions, nor the onagra, on which she liked to see her sons gallop. From the time we had trained it to this, the roughpaced buffalo that shook us to pieces was no longer used for riding, but kept entirely for drawing.
This increase of our poultry reminded us of the necessity of an undertaking we had long thought of, and was not in prudence to be deferred any longer; this was the building between the roots of our great tree, covered sheds for all our bipeds and quadrupeds. The rainy season, which is the winter of these countries, was drawing near, and to avoid losing most of our stock it was requisite to shelter it.
We began by forming a kind of roof above the arched roots of our tree, and employed bamboo canes for the purpose; the longest and strongest supported the roofing in the place of columns, the smaller more closely united and composed the roof itself. I filled up the interstices with moss and clay, and I spread over the whole a thick coat of tar. By these means I formed a compact and solid covering, capable of bearing pressure. I then made a railing round it, which gave the appearance of a pretty balcony, under which, between the roots, were various stalls sheltered from rain and sun, that could be easily shut and separated from each other by means of planks nailed upon the roots; part of them were calculated to serve as a stable and yard, part as an eating-room, a store-room, &c., and as a hay-loft to keep our hay and provisions dry in.
This work was soon completed; but afterwards it was necessary to fill these places with stores of every kind for our supply throughout the wet season. In this task we engaged diligently, and went daily here and there with our cart to collect every thing useful, and that might give us employment whilst the weather confined us to the house.
One evening on our return from digging up potatoes, as our cart loaded with bags, drawn by the buffalo, ass and cow, was gently rolling along, seeing still a vacant place in the vehicle, I advised my wife to go home with the two youngest boys whilst I went round by the wood of oaks with Ernest and Fritz to gather as many sweet
acorns as we could find room for We had still some empty sacks. Ernest was accompanied by his monkey, who seldom left him; and Fritz, horseman like, was on his dear onagra, which he had appropriated to himself, inasmuch as he had helped to take and tame it, and indeed because he knew how to manage it better than his brothers. Ernest was too lazy, and preferred walking at ease with the monkey on his shoulder, and the more so because it spared him the trouble of gathering fruit. Jack was too giddy to be trusted alone on the horse, though he often got up behind his brother, and Francis still too little to attempt mounting it. Notwithstanding the onagra was so well broken in for riding, it continued to be very mettlesome and restive in the shafts, to which we could not inure it; but occasionally it submitted to our putting a loaded sack or two on its back; but we could seldom prevail even in this, without Fritz being seated in front; he would then take them to the house, and thus was rendered of some general use.
When we reached the oaks Lightfoot was tied to a bush, and we set actively to work to gather the acorns that had dropped from the trees. While all were busily employed, the monkey quitted its master’s shoulder and skipped unperceived into an adjoining bush. It had been there some time when we heard on that side the loud cries of birds and flapping of wings, and this assured us a sharp conflict was going on betwixt master Knips and the inhabitants of the bushes. I dispatched Ernest to reconnoitre. He went stoutly towards the place, and in an instant we heard him exclaim, Come quickly, father! a fine heath-fowl’s nest full of eggs; Mr. Knips, as usual, wished to make a meal of them; the hen and he are fighting for it: come quick, Fritz, and take her; I am holding greedy-chops as well as I can.
Fritz ran up directly, and in a few moments brought out alive the male and female heath-fowl, both very beautiful; the cock finely collar’d, similar to one he had killed on a former occasion, not without much regret on my part. I was rejoiced at this discovery, and helped my son to prevent their escape by tying their wings and feet, and holding them while he returned to the bush for the eggs. And now Ernest came forward driving the monkey before him, and carrying his hat with the utmost care: he had stuck his girdle full of
narrow sharp-pointed leaves, in shape like a knife-blade, which reminded me of the production named sword-grass; but I did not pay much attention, as I was too busily engaged in our egg-hunt, and considered his decoration as childishness. On coming up to me he uncovered his hat, and gave it to me in a transport of joy, crying out, Here, dear father, here are some heath-fowl’s eggs; I found them in a nest so well concealed under these long leaves that I should not have observed them had not the hen, in defending herself against the monkey, scattered them about. I am going to take them home, they will please my mother; and these leaves will so amuse Francis, they are like swords, and will be the very thing he will like for a plaything. I applauded Ernest’s attention to both, and I encouraged him and Fritz to be thus ever considerate for the absent, so as to prove they could never be forgotten. The kindnesses conferred on those who are separated from us have in themselves more merit, and are more valued, than those which are personally received. It was now time to think of moving homeward: my two sons filled the bags with acorns and put them on Lightfoot; Fritz mounted, Ernest carried the eggs, I took charge of the hen, and we proceeded to Falcon’s Stream followed by our train-waggon. Our good cattle were in such complete subjection that it was only necessary to speak to them. I remarked Ernest often applying his ear to the hat which held the eggs, as if he thought the little ones were near coming forth; I listened also, and observed some shells already broken and the young protruding: we were overjoyed at our good luck, and Fritz could not refrain from trotting on briskly to bear the tidings to his dear mother: but he went rather faster than he intended on setting out: he had taken a handful of the pointed leaves with him, which he whisked before the ears and eyes of the onagra, till the animal was frightened, lost all restraint, and darted forward with him like a shot, hurrying away bags and rider at such a rate that we soon lost sight of them. Anxious for his safety, we followed as fast as possible, though out of sight of him all the way; but on our arrival at Falcon’s Stream we had the satisfaction of finding him there in perfect safety. His mother, indeed, had been somewhat alarmed in seeing him dash in like a thunderbolt, but firmly seated betwixt the bags on master Lightfoot, who well deserved his name on this occasion, and who
stopped short with wonderful precision at his stable door Our first care was to examine the eggs: the female bird was too frightened and wild to sit upon them: fortunately we had a hen that was hatching; her eggs were immediately removed, and the new ones put in their place: the female heath-fowl was put into the parrot’s cage, and hung up in the room to accustom it to our society. In less than three days all the chickens were hatched, they kept close to their foster-mother, and ate greedily a mixture of sweet acorns bruised in milk, such as we gave our tame poultry: as they grew up I plucked out the large feathers of their wings, lest they should naturally take flight; but they and their real parent gradually became so domesticated, that they daily accompanied our feathered stock in search of food, and regularly came back at night to the roost I had prepared for them, and in which this little new colony of feathered beings seemed to delight.
CHAPTER XXXI.
Flax, and the rainy season.
F for a short time was highly amused with his swordleaves, and then like all children, who are soon tired of their toys, he grew weary of them, and they were thrown aside. Fritz picked up some of them that were quite soft and withered; he held up one which was pliable as a ribband in the hand: My little fellow, said he to his brother, you can make whips of your sword-grass, take up the leaves and keep them for this purpose, they will be of use in driving your goats and sheep. It had been lately decided that it should be the business of Francis to lead these to pasture.
Well then, help me to make them, said the child. They sat down together. Francis divided the leaves into long narrow slips, and Fritz ingeniously platted them into whip-cords. As they were working, I saw with pleasure the flexibility and strength of the bands; I examined them more closely, and found they were composed of long fibres or filaments; and this discovery led me to surmise that this supposed sword-grass might be a very different thing, and not improbably the flax-plant of New Zealand, called by naturalists Chlomidia, and by others Phormion19 . This was a valuable discovery in our situation: I knew how much my wife wished for the production, and that it was the article she felt most the want of; I therefore hastened to communicate the intelligence to her, upon hearing which she expressed the liveliest joy: This, said she, is the most useful thing you have found; I entreat you, lose not a moment in searching for more of these leaves, and bring me the most you can of them; I will make you stockings, shirts, clothes, thread, ropes.....
In short, give me flax, looms, and frames, and I shall be at no loss in the employment of it. I could not help smiling at the scope she gave to her imagination, on the bare mention of flax, though so much was to be done between the gathering the leaves and having the cloth she was already sewing in idea. Fritz whispered a word in Jack’s ear; both went to the stable, and without asking my leave, one mounted Lightfoot, the other the buffalo, and galloped off towards the wood so fast that I had no time to call them back; they were already out of sight: their eagerness to oblige their mother in this instance pleaded their forgiveness, and I suffered them to go on without following them, purposing to proceed and bring them back if they did not soon return.
In waiting for them I conversed with my wife, who pointed out to me with all the animation and spirit of useful enterprise so natural to her character, the various machinery I must contrive for spinning and weaving her flax for the manufactory of cloths, with which she said she should be able to equip us from head to foot; in speaking of which, her eyes sparkled with the love of doing good, the purest kind of joy, and I promised her all she desired of me.
In a quarter of an hour our deserters came back on a full trot, and I was pleased to see them again; like true hussars, they had foraged the woods, and heavily loaded their cattle with the precious plant, which they threw at their mother’s feet with joyful shouts. We could not blame their abrupt departure. Jack made us laugh in recounting with his accustomed vivacity and drollery at what a rate he had trotted his buffalo to keep up with Lightfoot, and how his great horned horse had thrown him by a side leap; yet that notwithstanding these, he and his buffalo, as in duty and allegiance bound, were, as ever, at the entire command of their acknowledged queen. Well, said I, you shall then all assist her with consummate diligence in preparations for the work she is about to engage in, and previously in steeping the flax.
Fritz.—How is flax prepared, father, and what is meant by steeping it?
Father.—Steeping flax, or hemp, is exposing it in the open air, by spreading it on the ground to receive the rain, the wind, and the dew,
in order in a certain degree to liquefy the plant; by this means the ligneous or cortical parts of the flax are separated with more ease from the fibrous; a kind of vegetable glue that binds them is dissolved, and it can then be perfectly cleaned with great facility, and the parts selected which are fit for spinning.
Fritz.—But may not the natural texture of this part be destroyed by exposing it so long to wet?
Father.—That certainly may happen when the process is managed injudiciously, and the flax not duly turned; the risk, however, is not great, the fibrous part has a peculiar tenacity, which enables it to resist longer the action of humidity; flax may be even steeped altogether in water without injury. Many think this the best and quickest method, and I am of their opinion.
My wife coincided with me, especially in the sultry climate we inhabited: she therefore proposed to soak the flax in Flamingo Marsh, and to begin by making up the leaves in bundles, as they do hemp in Europe. We agreed to her proposal, and joined in this previous and necessary preparation of the flax during the rest of the day.
Next morning the ass was put to the small light car, loaded with bundles of leaves; Francis and the monkey sat on them, and the remainder of the family gaily followed with shovels and pickaxes. We stopped at the marsh, divided our large bundles into smaller, which we placed in the water, pressing them down with stones and leaving them in this state till our sovereign should direct us to remove and set them in the sun to dry, and thus render the stems soft and easy to peel. In the course of this work we noticed with admiration the instinct of the flamingoes in building their cone-shaped nests above the level of the marsh, each nest having a recess in the upper part, in which the eggs are securely deposited, while the contrivance enables the female to sit with her legs in the water: the nest is of clay closely cemented, so as to resist all danger from the element till the young can swim.
A fortnight after, my wife told us the flax was sufficiently steeped. We then took it out of the water, and spread it on the grass in the sun, where it dried so well and rapidly that we were able to load it on
our cart the same evening, and carry it to Falcon’s Stream, where it was put by till we had time to attend further to it, and make beetles, wheels, reels, carding-combs, &c., as required by our expert and skilful flax-manufacturer. It was thought best to reserve this task for the rainy season, and to get ready what would be then necessary during our confinement within doors. Uninformed as we were as to the duration of this season, it was highly important to lay in a competent stock of provisions for ourselves and for all the animals. Occasional slight showers, the harbingers of winter, had already come on; the temperature, which hitherto had been warm and serene, became gloomy and variable; the sky was often darkened with clouds, the stormy winds were heard, and warned us to avail ourselves of the favourable moment to collect every thing that would be wanted.
Our first care was to dig up a full supply of potatoes and yams for bread, with plenty of cocoa-nuts, and some bags of sweet acorns. It occurred to us while digging, that the ground being thus opened and manured with the leaves of plants, we might sow in it to advantage the remainder of our European corn. Notwithstanding all the delicacies this stranger land afforded us, the force of habit still caused us to long for the bread we had been fed with from childhood: we had not yet laid ourselves out for regular tillage, and I was inclined to attempt the construction of a plough of some sort as soon as we had a sufficient stock of corn for sowing. For this time, therefore, we committed it to the earth with little preparation: the season, however, was proper for sowing and planting, as the ensuing rain would moisten and swell the embryo grain, which otherwise would perish in an arid burning soil. We accordingly expedited the planting of the various palm trees we had discovered in our excursions, at Tent House, carefully selecting the smallest and the youngest. In the environs was formed a large handsome plantation of sugar canes, so as to have hereafter every thing useful and agreeable around us, and thus be dispensed from the usual toil and loss of time in procuring them.
These different occupations kept us several weeks in unremitted activity of mind and body; our cart was incessantly in motion, conveying home our winter stock; time was so precious that we
could not even make regular meals, and limited ourselves to bread, cheese, and fruits, in order to shorten them, to return quickly to our work, and dispatch it before the bad season should set in.
Unfortunately, the weather changed sooner than we had expected, and than, with all our care, we could be prepared for; before we had completed our winter establishment, the rain fell in such heavy torrents that little Francis, trembling, asked me whether father Noah’s deluge was coming on again; and I could not myself refrain from painful apprehension in surmising how we should resist such a body of water, that seemed to change the whole face of the country into a perfect lake.
The first thing to be done, and which gave us all sensations of deep concern, was to remove without delay our aërial abode, and to fix our residence at the bottom of the tree, between the roots and under the tarred roof I had erected; for it was no longer possible to remain above, on account of the furious winds that threatened to bear us away, and deluged our beds with rain through the large opening in front, our only protection here being a piece of sail-cloth, which was soon dripping wet and rent to pieces. In this condition we were forced to take down our hammocks, mattresses, and every article that could be injured by the rain; and most fortunate did we deem ourselves in having made the winding stairs, which sheltered us during the operation of the removal. The stairs served afterwards for a kind of lumber-room; we kept all in it we could dispense with, and most of our culinary vessels, which my wife fetched as she happened to want them. Our little sheds between the roots, constructed for the poultry and the cattle, could scarcely contain us all; and the first days we passed in this manner were painfully embarrassing, crowded all together, and hardly able to move in these almost dark recesses, which the fœtid smell from the closeadjoining animals rendered almost insupportable: in addition, we were half stifled with smoke whenever we kindled a fire, and drenched with rain when we opened the doors. For the first time, since our disaster, we sighed for the comfortable houses of our dear country:—but what was to be done! we were not there, and losing our courage and our temper would only increase the evil. I strove to raise the spirits of my companions, and obviate some of the
inconveniences. The now doubly-precious winding stair was, as I have said, every way useful to us; the upper part of it was filled with numerous articles that gave us room below; and as it was lighted and sheltered by windows, my wife often worked there, seated on a stair, with her little Francis at her feet. We confined our live-stock to a smaller number, and gave them a freer current of air, dismissing from the stalls those animals that from their properties, and being natives of the country, would be at no loss in providing for themselves. That we might not lose them altogether, we tied bells round their necks; Fritz and I sought and drove them in every evening that they did not spontaneously return. We generally got wet to the skin and chilled with cold, during the employment, which induced my wife to contrive for us a kind of clothing more suitable to the occasion; she took two seamen’s shirts from the chest we had recovered from the wreck; and then, with some pieces of old coats, she made us a kind of cloth hoods joined together at the back, and well formed for covering the head entirely: we melted some elastic gum, which we spread over the shirts and hoods; and the articles thus prepared answered every purpose of water-proof overalls, that were of essential use and comfort to us. Our young rogues were ready with their derision the first time they saw us in them; but afterwards they would have been rejoiced to have had the same: this, however, the reduced state of our gum did not allow, and we contented ourselves with wearing them in turn, when compelled to work in the rain, from the bad effects of which they effectually preserved us.
As to the smoke, our only remedy was to open the door when we made a fire; and we did without as much as we could, living on milk and cheese, and never making a fire but to bake our cakes: we then availed ourselves of the opportunity to boil a quantity of potatoes and salt meat enough to last us a number of days. Our dry wood was also nearly expended, and we thanked Heaven the weather was not very cold; for had this been the case our other trials would have much increased. A more serious concern was our not having provided sufficient hay and leaves for our European cattle, which we necessarily kept housed to avoid losing them; the cow, the ass, the sheep, and the goats, the two last of which were increased in number, required a large quantity of provender, so that we were ere
long forced to give them our potatoes and sweet acorns, which by the by they found very palatable, and we remarked that they imparted a delicate flavour to their milk;—the cow, the goats, and even the sheep, amply supplied us with that precious article: milking, cleaning the animals and preparing their food, occupied us most of the morning, after which we were usually employed in making flour of the manioc root, with which we filled the large gourds, which were previously placed in rows. The gloom of the atmosphere and our low windowless habitation sensibly abridged our daylight; fortunately, we had laid in a huge store of candles, and felt no want of that article: when darkness obliged us to light up, we got round the table, when a large taper fixed on a gourd gave us an excellent light, which enabled my wife to pursue her occupation with the needle, while I, on my part, was forming a journal and recording what the reader has perused of the narrative of our shipwreck and residence in this island, assisted from time to time by my sons and their admirable mother, who did not cease to remind me of various incidents belonging to the story. To Ernest, who wrote a fine hand, was intrusted the care of writing off my pages in a clear legible character; Fritz and Jack amused themselves by drawing from memory the plants and animals which had most struck their observation; while one and all contributed to teach little Francis to read and write: we concluded the day with a devotional reading in the Holy Bible, performed by each in turn, and we then retired to rest, happy in ourselves, and in the innocent and peaceful course of our existence. Our kind and faithful steward often surprised us agreeably on our return from looking after the cattle, by lighting up a faggot of dried bamboo, and quickly roasting by the clear and fervent heat it produced, a chicken, pigeon, duck, or penguin from our poultry-yard, or some of the thrushes we had preserved in butter, which were excellent, and welcomed as a treat to reward extraordinary toil. Every four or five days the kind creature made us new fresh butter in the gourd-churn; and this with some deliciously fragrant honey spread on our manioc cakes, formed a collation that would have raised the envy of European epicures. These unexpected regales represented to our grateful hearts so many little festivals, the
generous intention of which made us forget our bad accommodations and confinement.
The fragments of our meals belonged in right to our domestic animals, as part of the family. We had now four dogs, the young jackal, the eagle, and the monkey, to feed; they relied with just confidence on the kindness of their respective masters, who certainly would have deprived themselves to supply the wants of their helpless dependents. Francis had taken under his mighty protection the two little bull-dogs; my wife Ponto, and I the brave Turk:—thus each had his attendant, of which he took care, and no one was dispensed from the offices of tenderness and vigilance. If the buffalo, the onagra, and pig had not found sustenance abroad, they must have been killed or starved, and that would have given us much pain. In the course of these discomforts it was unanimously resolved on, that we would not pass another rainy season exposed to the same evils; even my beloved consort, who felt such a predilection for the abode at Falcon’s Stream, was frequently a little ruffled and out of temper with our inconvenient situation, and insisted more than any of us on the propriety of building elsewhere a more spacious winter residence: she wished, however, to return to our castle in the tree every summer, and we all joined with her in that desire. The choice of a fresh abode now engrossed our attention, and Fritz in the midst of consultation came forward triumphantly with a book he had found in the bottom of our clothes’ chest. Here, said he, is our best counsellor and model, Robinson Crusoe; since Heaven has destined us to a similar fate, whom better can we consult? as far as I remember, he cut himself an habitation out of the solid rock: let us see how he proceeded; we will do the same and with greater ease, for he was alone; we are six in number, and four of us able to work. Well spoken, son, said I: this activity and courage give me pleasure; let us then strive to be as ingenious as Robinson Crusoe.
And why not? observed Jack—Have we not an island, rocks, and tools from abroad as good as he had, and, as brother Fritz says, more hands to use them?
We assembled, and read the famous history with an ardent interest; it seemed though so familiar, quite new to us: we entered
earnestly into every detail and derived considerable information from it, and never failed to feel lively gratitude towards God who had rescued us all together, and not permitted one only of us to be cast a solitary being on the island. The occurrence of this thought produced an overwhelming sense of affection among us, and we could not refrain from throwing ourselves into each others arms, embracing repeatedly, and the pathetic scene ended in mutual congratulations.
Francis repeated his wish to have a Man Friday; Fritz thought it better to be without such a companion, and to have no savages to contend with. Jack was for the savages, warfare and encounters. The final result of our deliberations was to go and survey the rocks round Tent-House, and to examine whether any of them could be excavated for our purpose.
Our last job for the winter, undertaken at my wife’s solicitation, was a beetle for her flax and some carding-combs. I filed large nails till they were even, round, and pointed; I fixed them at equal distances in a sheet of tin, and raised the sides of it like a box; I then poured melted lead between the nails and the sides, to give firmness to their points, which came out four inches. I nailed this tin on a board, and the machine was fit for work. My wife was impatient to use it; and the drying, peeling, and spinning her flax, became from this time a source of inexhaustible delight.
